Spies Don't Have Kids
by Bryn Elizabeth
Summary: Spies don't have kids. Unless there is no choice. Michael Westen and Fiona Glennane are stuck in the Spy Game with a daughter.
1. Spies Don't Have Kids

**A/N: This is my latest project, for my new obsession, Burn Notice. It's written in Michael's point-of-view, and I am going to try and keep it in the style of his little voiceovers. Tell me what you think, **_**por favor. **_

Being a spy is nowhere near the ideal job for a parent, which is why spies don't have children. It just isn't done. It's much too dangerous for the kid, and way too stressful for a mother or father to be wondering if their son or daughter is out getting abducted or shot or blown up or used as bait. Spies don't have children.

Unless there is no choice.

Like, for instance, if your reunion with an ex-girlfriend now turned ex-ex-girlfriend yields unexpected consequences, like two lines on a test instead of one.

In today's world, you have a lot of options. Options that can easily fly right out of the window.

Abortion may have been briefly mentioned, but it was shot down before it even had a slim chance. Fi and I would never dream of taking such an innocent life, especially a life we created together.

Adoption was heavily considered until we saw the sonogram for the first time. We saw her, and thought, _This is our baby girl, _and we knew we could never miss out on her life. _I _could never miss out on her life.

My mom said she'd baby-sit her granddaughter occasionally, but she was our responsibility,

So Michael Westen and Fiona Glennane are stuck in the spy game with a daughter.

This oughta be fun.

A/N: I plan on having quite a few ficlets with different landmark events in her life. If there's something you want me to write, tell me and I shall.


	2. Nine Months Complaining

Fiona never liked being pregnant. Perhaps it was the way her body changed, or how she couldn't drink anything with a drop of alcohol. More likely, it was the fact that I had to keep her shut up in the loft. No missions, no shooting, and no blowing things up. I had to keep them both safe.

And Fi hates safe.

She complained about her growing stomach. She said she was fat, I said she was adorable. She said the baby took up too much room, I said I was glad _she _was the one carrying my baby. She gave me a look that said Is-there-anybody-else-that-could-be-carrying-your-baby-Michael-Westen, I just patted her stomach and smiled. These hormones never left her speechless… Or very content.

"This is ridiculous," she complained to me one hot afternoon, pulling my hand to her stomach. Tiny feet kicked hard against my hand. "She's been keeping this up all day." Those legs were strong. Our daughter was going to be a great fighter.

A spy may be completely knowledgeable of his surroundings, but it's never easy to know where to find Ropa Vieja or a pineapple and mushroom pizza at one in the morning. And, no matter how many different types of bombs you can make from household items, there are only so many ice cream flavors to choose from. To make matters worse, it _is _possible for the store to run out of blueberry yogurt.

I once unexpectedly heard Fiona talking to the baby. When I listened closer, I realized I shouldn't have been so surprised. She was explaining to our unborn daughter the proper way to rig a car with a tremble switch.

Some nights, we could forget for a few minutes that I was an ex-spy and violence was foreplay for her and we would feel the baby kick and talk names and nurseries. And then, before I realized those moments of pretending to me a normal family were gone, Fiona would complain about missing champagne and size two and C4.

**A/N: This chapter was a little sappy. There will be sappy moments, but I'm trying to keep it as Non-Fluff. How do **_**you **_**think this is going? I've had a few story alerts, but only one review, which makes me sad. **


	3. Mom and Her Ideas

**A/N: Thanks to matilda62301 for this idea. I hope I wrote it out well!**

One thing spy training will never prepare you for is how to break the news to your mother that she is going to be a grandmother. Training especially does not prepare you for _my _mother.

While drinking _my _beer in _my _loft, Sam pointed out that I had to tell her eventually. It would probably go over much more smoothly if I told her instead of waiting around for her to see Fiona's growing stomach or us dragging around a baby.

So, there we sat, Fi and I, watching my mom chain smoke in her kitchen. We kept giving each other nervous glances until she finally noticed.

"What are you two up to?"

I stuttered for a moment until Fi decided the best approach was to just blurt it out. "I'm pregnant."

She nearly dropped the cigarette out of her mouth, staring down her nose at us. "You two?"

I nodded, waiting for her reaction.

"I'm going to be grandma?" We nodded again, and she smiled. "Finally, Michael. What are you two going to do?"

"What do you mean?" Fi asked, taking a bite out of an apple.

"You're going to have a child together. _Together. _So, Fiona, are you staying at Michaels, or is he staying at yours?"

"Ma…"

"Michael, you're having a baby with her. You two have to build your lives from now on around that child. Together."

"Ma, I…"

"Fiona?" Mom asked, smiling pleasantly. Can I speak with Michael alone for a minute?" I knew that could not be good. "Michael, Fiona is the best thing that's ever happened to you. And this baby? Come on. You know it's the right thing."

"Ma, Fiona and I aren't getting married. We're going to both raise this baby, but not that way."

She put her hands on her hips and sighed disappointedly. "All right, but promise me you'll at least take care of her."

"Of course I am. She's staying at my place for now."

"She can't drink, Michael, and you certainly can't let her get shot at or blown up."

"Ma, don't you think I know this? Come on. I'm taking care of her."

"Good." She turned to the door. "Fiona, you can stop eavesdropping and come rejoin the conversation." She hugged us both, and I thought she was going to squeeze Fiona to death. "I'm going to be a grandma!"


	4. The Name Game

Naming a child is a difficult task. Unlike a name for a cover story, giving someone a legal name is daunting because they will use that name not just for a mission, but for the rest of their lives. No matter who they are during the day, it's who they are when they're with the people who love them. Or, at least until they change it.

When giving yourself a name for a cover, you pick a name that ensures you fit in. For example, if you're going to be hanging with Russians, you give yourself a name like Ivan, Sergei or Natasha. If you want to be untraceable, you pick something like Bob Smith or Mary Anderson.

However, since you don't know where your child will fit in or how unique they'll be, it's a hell of a lot harder to pick a name for you Little Bundle of Joy.

Again, today's world offer's options.

There are thousands of books written on the topic, each with hundreds of lists consisting of thousands of names. And, of course, advice on The Do's and Don'ts of Baby Naming. According to the literature, you should test nicknames, make it meaningful, keep in mind spelling and pronunciation, consider gender sensitivity, and be creative.

Or, you can get ideas from those around you. For instance, I had to tell Sam about twenty times that I was _not _naming my daughter 'Samantha', even if he was the godfather. Clients and strangers even had ideas.

But no one was more opinionated than Dear Old Mom. Every time we saw her, she had a new book or website and a hundred new suggestions. Madeline and Madison, of course, Briana and Caitlin were Irish, Michaela or McKayla because they were similar to my name, Glenanne, because that's Fi's last name… The list went on and on.

We grew tired and frustrated of the whole baby-naming thing until Mom let it slip that she'd always wanted a little girl named Mallory Anne. We liked it, talked it over, and loved it. And just in time, too.

Mallory Anne Westen was getting ready to come into the world.


	5. False Alarm

**A/N: I honestly don't know why I'm typing this up instead of going to bed. Fail.**

**A/N 2: I'm sorry this took so long to update. My muse ran away until the show returned. But now you can expect some updates.**

**A/N 3: This idea was suggested by twin*muse.**

I was awakened one night by Fiona elbowing me sharply.

"Michael. Michael, wake up."

"What, Fi?" I asked groggily as she rolled over onto my chest, a hand on her round stomach.

"I-" She cut herself off with a sharp intake of breath and a small groan.

Suddenly much more alert, I let her squeeze my arm before, in a bit of a panic, I asked, "What is it?"

"I just... God, I've been so uncomfortable all night. My back hurts, and my stomach..."

Spies are trained to remain calm in typically nerve-wracking situations. But at this particular time, my training did not come into play. My heart started racing, my palms sweating, and I started tripping over my words.

"Do you... Do you think that maybe... Maybe it's time for the baby?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Could be."

How calm Fi was calmed me down quite a bit, and I was able to keep my voice gentle.

"All right. Let's get you to the hospital."

She was quiet the entire way there, looking out of the window, hands resting on her stomach. She remained cool and collected. I, on the other hand, had shaking hands and a pounding heart, my eyes flicking over to check on her every few seconds.

Finally tired of the silence that only heightened my nerves, I called my mother's house. Sam answered third ring, sounding half-asleep.

"Yeah, Mike?" He knew no one else would be calling at two-thirty in the morning.

"Sam, I need you to wake up my mom and get over to the hospital."

"Hospital?" He took a moment to process this, still trying to shake sleep. "Oh! Is it baby time?"

Now I couldn't help but smile, my anxiety becoming edged with excitement. "Yeah, we think so."

I could almost hear the grin in his voice. "Awesome. I'll go wake up Maddie and we'll be there soon."

"See ya, Sam."

"Oh, and Mike? Make sure Fi gets some drugs before anyone goes near her."

......

We were sent into a room and Fi into a hospital gown, her complaints in the air in the air the entire time. No one was moving fast enough for her, or for me.

Sam and Mom arrived and remained uncharacteristically quiet, probably due to Fiona's rather intimidating glares. The three of us shuffled around the room, bringing her whatever she wanted, stealing quick, excited glances at each other every so often.

Finally, the doctor came in, and Fiona voiced her dissatisfaction about the length of time between her arrival into the faux-cheery, pastel-colored room, and his. He listened politely, and then voiced his intent to examine her. Mom and Sam excused themselves, and I squeezed Fi's hand.

After only a moment, the doctor addressed us, obviously not sure of what his demeanor should be. I tightened my grip on Fi's hand, now not sure what _my _demeanor should be.

"I'm afraid that the two of you will not be holding your Little Bundle of Joy today."

My stomach knotted and Fi voiced our unanimous question.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You aren't actually in labor this time, Miss Glenanne." He gave a nervous smile. "You two still have just a little more waiting to do."

Oh.

Fi turned to me, her eyes flashing. "I suggest that doctor leave quickly, before I'm able to get up."

"Fiona..." I scolded, but nodded at the doctor, who took our advice.

"Why did that doctor look so scared?" Sam asked, peeking around the door to make sure it was safe.

Fi lay in bed, arms crossed, her face turned so that my back shielded her. I sat on the edge of the bed and felt her rest her head on my back, hiding from view.

"False alarm," I sighed.

"Really?" I nodded, and he shrugged. "Hmph."

"Go ahead and take my mom home. I'll see you later."

With an understanding nod, he disappeared, and I comfortingly rubbed Fi's leg.

"Let's go home."

A/N: First of all, reviews are nice. Secondly, chapter suggestions are cool. I will write them. Lastly, I am accepting beta requests. =]


	6. Not Out of the Woods Yet

**A/N: Warning! Fluff alert! Ewww, I know. It just happened. **

"Michael..." Fiona whined, leaning up against me.

I wrapped an arm around her, planting a tiny kiss on the top of her head. "What is it, Fi?"

"I'm tired of this."

"Tired of what?"

She placed a hand on her stomach. "This. Being pregnant. Waiting."

"I can't wait to hold her, either."

She chuckled a little, pulling my hand to the roundness of her belly, where I could feel two tiny feet kicking impatiently.

"I think she's ready, too."

"What do you think she'll be like?" Fiona mused.

She put her arms around me, holding on for a few minutes, thinking. I started thinking, too. Would Mallory have dark or light hair? Blue eyes? Brown? Would she look more like Fiona or me? Would she be quiet and shy or talkative and outgoing? Would she be sneaky? A good fighter? A little angel or big trouble?

"She'll be perfect," I assured Fi.

"Do you think we'll be good parents?"

I stroked her hair. "We'll love her."

"But will she love us?"

_Would _she love us? I had no idea how to take care of a child, how to raise one.

"Are we ready for this?" Fiona asked, fear in her voice.

I swallowed hard, feeling Mallory's strong kick. I could feel the shapes of her two tiny feet.

"I don't think we have a choice."


End file.
